J the Sleuth Ch. 02: A Shark

As they both came down from their orgasms, they continued to kiss, but it was now leisurely and tender.

"I should have asked this earlier," she murmured, between kisses, "but are you expecting anyone else?"

He chuckled. "No, we're good. Nobody on the shift tonight but me."

"Good."

Finally, he pulled himself away, and she could feel the cum leaking out of her pussy, onto the edge of the desk and onto the floor below. She got up to rearrange her clothes, as he went to the kitchenette for some paper towels.

"How's your wife?" she asked, as she put things back in place.

"Oh, the same," he responded, coming back into the room. "Except I think the bitch is cheating on me."

She stopped in mid motion and arched an incredulous eyebrow at him.

"Yeah yeah," he said. "I know. Hypocrite. But I'm not saying she's a bitch because she's cheating; she's a bitch, and she's cheating - two different things. Anyway, what brings you here? Did you just need the endorphins, or was there something else, too?"

She laughed. She'd told so many people - especially her lovers - about her endorphin-related theory on thinking better after a good fucking, and it was now becoming a running joke amongst her friends. She didn't care, though; she happened to believe it, and she was getting dicked on a regular basis, so as far as she was concerned, it was win-win. Jokes aside, her lovers felt the same way.

But this visit was, indeed, more than just a quest for endorphins. "You're right, there's something else," she responded. "I need to look through your computer for a bit."

"No prob," he said, grabbing a chair and setting it beside his own, so they could both see the monitor. "What are you looking for?"

"To start with, any young women who've come through here in the last few months. Say thirty or under. If that turns out to be too many, we'll narrow the search from there."

"Shouldn't be too bad," he responded. "We're Toronto, not New York, or Chicago. There will be maybe forty or fifty, I'm guessin'."

"Okay," she responded. "I can scan those visually."

"Looking for something in particular?" he asked.

"Yeah. I've got photos of five girls, and I want to see if they've been here. If so, my search is over."

"Gotcha," he responded, and then got to work.

He logged onto the computer, pulled up a program, and accessed the list of people who'd been through the morgue. He narrowed the search to just the last few months, then narrowed it again by gender, and finally once more by age. They ended up with fifty-two results.

Luckily, having moved to a computerized system, J was able to scan all of the women by their photos. Granted, they were photos of the dead women's faces, from where they were laid on the slab, but it was good enough to compare the photos with the ones she had on her phone. Before too long she'd matched up four of her five photos with girls in the system. As she went, she wrote down the names of each girl. She then had Bill scan through those particular files, to look for similarities.

"Well," he said, after a few moments, "you're in luck - if you call it that. There is a similarity: All four of them were drowned in Lake Ontario. But... but there was something weird, too."

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, still reading the screen in front of him, Alt+Tabbing between windows as he compared notes from the different cases. "They were all found on the shore of the lake, all had clearly drowned, but they all had salt water in their lungs, instead of fresh."

"So they couldn't have drowned in the lake!" she responded.

"Well... the coroners, at the time, didn't know what to make of it. Reading between the lines, I think they assumed a lab tech made a mistake, and didn't want to make a big deal out of it. They were sure the girls had drowned in the lake, so... that was that. And let's be honest, it's not like there's an ocean around here."

"And nobody caught onto the pattern?" she asked.

"Nope. Different coroners; months apart; different shifts; culture of not wanting to make waves with the cops. It's not surprising that nobody would have put two and two together."

"So that's four of them," she muttered to herself. "Now where's girl number five?"

"Well... I hate to say it," he said, "but we've got a girl in the freezer right now. Not in the system yet. But early 20s, probably. And she drowned in the lake."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. You wanna go confirm if it's your girl?"

She didn't relish the idea of looking at the body of a dead girl, fresh from her drowning death - it would be much more gruesome than looking at the photos had been - but she had to know.

"Okay," she said, "let's go."

Moments later, he had pulled out the drawer and pulled back the sheet from the dead girl's face, so that J could confirm: it was her.

"Fuck," she said again, quietly.

"Tell you what," he said, as he reverentially put the sheet back and place and rolled the body back into the freezer. "I'll put a rush on this, and verify as quickly as possible if she's got salt water in her lungs."

"Thanks Bill," she responded. "You've got my number; lemme know."

--

Staci had set up meetings with some of the remaining girls from the WhatsApp group, and had helpfully set them all up in one particular Starbucks, so J was able to meet with a number of girls over the span of an hour. Not that the meetings yielded anything; none of the girls had any useful information for her. No exceedingly creepy clients asking for dates recently; no anomalous patterns from the dates they'd been having; nothing weird they remembered from the disappeared girls' behaviour from before they'd left. No mention of salt, or salt water.

Each of the girls had provided her with a list of cell phone numbers from their clients over the last few weeks, but J wasn't sure how much use those numbers would be. There would likely be quite a number of overlapping numbers - a man who would visit one escort might very well visit another, and there wasn't anything nefarious about that - and there wasn't even any reason to think that the unsub had visited any of these girls anyway. If J had been able to magically get hold of the lists from the dead girls that might have been more helpful. But at least she had them; if she did think of a use for the numbers, she would be ready.

Mentally speaking, however, she felt like she was in prime form. Her quick session with Bill and his thick cock had helped clear some of the cobwebs from her head. She was firing on all cylinders; she just needed to put that mental energy to good use.

She walked in the door of her office cum apartment, kicked off her shoes, and headed to the kitchen for a drink, before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, in search of a refill, she was wearing comfortable pants and a top, her damp hair smelled of scented shampoo, and she felt like a new woman, clean and renewed.

There was a knock at the door, and she went to let Staci in. She'd invited her over to give her an update; she didn't relish the idea, but figured she'd better get it over with.

"Come on in," she said. "Drink?"

"No thanks," Staci replied. "I've got a client later tonight; they don't like it when you show up smelling like alcohol - they want to be the ones to feed you the booze."

They sat in the same chairs as before.

"Well I won't beat around the bush, Staci, but unfortunately the news isn't good. I was able to use my contacts to find the missing girls. I'm sorry, but they're all dead."

Staci looked away, but J could still see a tear rolling down her cheek.

"I... I guess I figured they were," she said, her voice growing husky. "I mean... after all this time, they had to be. But still... I hoped, you know? I just... oh christ, I'll miss some of those girls so much..."

And then she did break down, her face falling into her hands, shoulders shaking. J went and took her in her arms, giving what little comfort she could. She didn't say anything; what could she say? They just let Staci's tears run their course, and then J went back to her chair.

Staci pulled some tissues out of her purse. "Thank you," she said, though J wasn't sure if it was for finding the information, or the little comfort she'd provided. Maybe both.

"So," Staci continued, obviously struggling to get herself back under control, "What's next? Where do we go from here?"

"Well," J responded, "I assume it's out of the question to ask you and the girls to stop meeting clients for a while, eh?"

Staci smiled at J's lame attempt at humour. "Not practical, I'm afraid. We can't deprive an entire city of sex. Much as I'd like to, sometimes."

"I figured," J responded. "We don't even know for sure that the unsub is a client in the first place. For all we know, the guy is snatching them off the street or something - though a client is a much more likely candidate. One thing we can do, however, is this."

She handed Staci something heavy, which turned out to be a gun. A small one, petite enough to easily fit in Staci's purse, but still heavy for its size.

"I already have one of these," Staci responded, patting her bag.

"Where did you get it?"

"Oh don't worry, it's legal."

"Which is my point: if you end up having to protect yourself it'll get traced back to you, and, depending on the circumstances, that may or may not be what you want. The one I just gave you is clean: no serial numbers, never been used in a crime, completely untraceable. If you need to use it, you can wipe it down and then throw it in the lake or something. It'll never come back to you."

"Which is all well and good," Staci said, "but could I even do it? Could I shoot someone? In cold blood?"

"Not cold blood, Staci, hot blood. If you need to use that, it'll be because your life is in danger. You'd be surprised when you can do in circumstances like that."

Staci didn't look convinced, but she put the new gun in her bag, which was a start.

"Obviously I don't have a bunch of those to give away, so we can't help the other girls right now, but we'll focus on what we can do, instead of what we can't. Next question: when you meet clients, where do you typically meet them? Hotel? Motel? Apartment?"

"For me, usually a hotel. Some girls have apartments they use for this kind of thing - agencies pretty much always have an apartment - but I'm independent, and it's cheaper and more convenient to use a hotel."

"Any particular one? How do you let the guys know where to go?"

"Doesn't matter which one I use, as long as it's not too cheap. If it's decently upscale it's fine; a Marriott or whatever. When a guy books an appointment I get his cell number, and text him the address and room number closer to the time."

"Smart. Okay, I've got a place I'd like you to use, for a while. I know the manager, and I can get a special room that'll allow me to watch. Er... as long as you're okay with that!" J's eyes flew open in sudden embarrassment - she'd been so engrossed thinking about protecting Staci that she'd temporarily forgotten the intimate nature of her work!

But Staci laughed. "It's fine," she said. "It's not like I haven't been watched before. Hell, sometimes couples book appointments with me so that one of them can fuck me while the other watches. It takes all types to make the world go 'round, J."

"Phew," J said with a smile. "In that case, like I say, the place has adjoining rooms, and the manager let me rig up a two-way mirror between them, so I can watch one room from the other. I've used it in the past to catch adulterers in the act."

"Careful," Staci said playfully, "if you catch all of the cheaters, you'll put me out of business! But I'm curious: if you're in the other room, catching the guys in the act, who do you get to fuck them?"

"Who said I'm in the other room?" J asked, with a wicked glint in her eye. "That's where I put the camera, but the one doing the fucking is me. This job does have its perks, you know! Also," she continued, "who says it's always men? Sometimes it's the wives who are cheating, and the husbands who are hiring me. Frankly, it's more fun that way; cheating husbands fuck just like any other men, but cheating wives? They fuck like wildcats! Whenever a man wants to hire me to catch his wife in the act, I do a lot of hydrating, first!"

They both laughed.

--

It was a few hours later. Staci was in a hotel room with a client. J was in the next room, having removed the "regular" mirror to expose the two-way mirror into Staci's room, and was watching Staci's interaction with her client. They'd unlocked the doors between the adjoining rooms, so if J needed to she could rush into Staci's room at a moment's notice, but it was just a precaution. It would have been too much of a coincidence for this guy to happen to be the unsub they were looking for.

At first, as Staci and the client got to know each other, it was a boring show. There was a lot of small talk, with Staci going out of her way to make as much physical contact as she could - resting a hand on his leg, or touching his arm, or that type of thing - getting him used to the idea. It was all "getting to know you" type stuff, just like on a first date, but greatly accelerated since they only had an hour together instead of a whole evening to form a connection.

J found herself tuning the conversation out, and thinking about the problem at hand: how to come up with a list of suspects, other than combing through a list of hundreds of cell phone numbers, which could very well not include the one she was after. There was something she was missing, it just wasn't coming to her. It was starting to drive her crazy, in fact, like having a word or a name on the tip of your tongue that just won't come. She half paid attention to the action in the next room, and let her mind wander around the edges of the problem.

Despite her wandering attention, though, her training was still in high gear: if anything suspicious were to happen, J would be in Staci's room in a heartbeat, throwing the guy around the room like a rag doll; her conscious mind wasn't paying attention to them, but her subconscious was on high alert, just in case.

Eventually, though, her full attention was brought back to the view through the mirror, as things started to heat up. The two of them were making out, now, and regardless of how shy he might have been when he first arrived, his timidity was gone. J was almost jealous; he looked like he might be a pretty good kisser. J tried, and failed, to remember the last time she'd been kissed like that. Staci wasn't so bad herself - though, of course, she'd had lots of practise matching her style to that of her clients, so it wasn't surprising that she was able to so quickly click with him.

Before long, Staci stood them up, and then slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, button by button, while continuing to kiss him. Once she had it completely open, she slid her arms around him, inside the shirt, letting her hands rest on his skin, kissing him some more, before finally reaching up to slide his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor around his feet. J had sized the man up as soon as he'd entered the room, and now confirmed that he was in very good shape.

Staci stopped kissing him long enough to step away, reach back to unzip her dress, and let it fall to the floor around her feet. J could only see her from the back, but she was still a vision to behold: her smooth, clean, flawless skin; the dimple at the bottom of her back, leading down to her perfect ass; her long, exquisite legs. J found her own legs opening a little wider where she sat; her clit was becoming sensitive, and suddenly needed some extra room, because she could feel it rubbing against the fabric of her clothes.

The client had an even better view, from the front, and in a moment he was back in Staci's arms, kissing her some more. He then lifted her up and carried her over to the bed, where he gently laid her down. He remained standing, so that he could get rid of his pants.

But that put him at perfectly the right spot for Staci. As soon as his cock was exposed, right next to her face, already mostly hard, she made the expected cooing noises about how big and perfect it was - to J's inexperienced eye, it really was kind of mouth-watering - and then took it into her mouth.

This was becoming a better show than anything J had seen on Pornhub lately. She didn't know if this was how Staci always sucked a cock or if she was putting on a show, knowing that she was being watched, but either way, it was incredible to watch. He stood there by the side of the bed, letting her do her thing, and Staci didn't just suck, she made love to the cock with her mouth. She embodied the phrase "worshipping a cock" - she kissed it, and took it in her mouth to swirl the head with her tongue, and licked it, and took it down her throat; she used her hand to fondle his balls, and play with his taint; eventually her other hand found its way down to play with her clit, pleasuring herself at the same time she pleasured him.

J followed suit, in her own room. She got up and let her pants fall to the ground, before falling back into the chair, spreading her legs wide, and playing with her own clit - but all the while her eyes were glued to Staci.

He couldn't hold out too long, before he had to warn Staci: "I'm going to..."

She looked up at him, licking the slit under his cock head, and grinned a wicked grin up at him. "Give it to me, baby," she said, and then took him back into her mouth.

He didn't need any further prompting: he grabbed the back of Staci's head, and J could see his cock begin to throb as he unleashed his cum into Staci's waiting mouth. For her part, Staci took it in greedily, hungrily, moaning like his cum was causing her own orgasm. J could see Staci's throat work as she swallowed his seed, and had a small orgasm of her own as she furiously worked her clit. Staci milked every drop from the cock, then spent some time cleaning the head, before finally looking back up to him, licking her lips.

"Mmm, that was good," she said. It should have sounded cheezy - it was cheezy - but in the moment, it worked. At any rate, he was convinced, which was all that mattered.

Staci pulled him down on the bed with her (he practically collapsed), and they spent some time spooning together on the bed. They talked a bit, and kissed occasionally, and let their hands roam, as she let him enjoy his afterglow. J didn't bother putting her pants back on; she had a feeling the show wasn't over yet.

Eventually Staci asked him something, and he answered, "No, not usually that quickly! But... well, I've got an idea." He then got up from the bed, came around to the other side, and positioned his head between Staci's legs.

"Oh, you bad boy," she cooed at him, as he started to lap at her pussy.

Unfortunately, as beautiful as his body (and cock) were, he didn't seem to have any skills at cunnilingus. After a while Staci started to make some noises, but J could easily tell they were fake; she wondered if he could tell, then wondered if he'd care even if he could.

His work did have one positive effect, though: he was getting hard again, and looked like he'd be good for a second round.

"Why don't you come up here, sweetie?" Staci asked him, and he came back up on the bed, where he laid on his back. She rolled a condom onto him, straddled him, and then lowered herself onto him, cowgirl style.

This time J was sure that Staci was putting on a show for her: the angle she chose was perfect for the mirror. When she had fully engulfed him, she took a moment to lean her bead back, ostensibly in bliss, which just happened to perfectly showcase her perfect breasts and taut tummy for J. She then ran a hand down her chest, biting her lip as she pinched a nipple, before looking down at him, and starting to slowly ride him.